


Rum, neat

by FlareWarrior



Series: Kinktober 2017 [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Cowboys, Eggnog, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Roleplay, Things Don't Go As Planned, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/pseuds/FlareWarrior
Summary: Stuck in the states with nothing much to do, Eggsy and Harry devise a way to keep entertained. It works a little better than anticipated. Or: in which madness begets madness, and Tequila has the best day ever.





	Rum, neat

**Author's Note:**

> I'm alive! And I'm three days behind! I better hurry up!

"Rum, neat."

Harry sounds so different Eggsy almost doesn't look up when he takes the stool to his right. Just what the _fuck_ has he done to get his voice so low? It's not out of his range, but it's bizarrely natural. Much like the way it rolls over southern syllables. Which is sort of the opposite of what Eggsy had expected when he agreed to the whole old west cowboy make-believe session with a happy ending thing.

He should have known Harry would bring his goddamn A-game.

Heavy black boots have replaced Harry's polished oxfords and dark blue jeans stretch taut over the bends in his long legs. Dust clings to clothes, a thin layer of grit on his hands that Eggsy wants an explanation for less than he wants to be stained by contact. Harry's swapped his glasses for his eyepatch, and it completes the rugged look, the black strap disappearing under a wide-brimmed black hat.

He doesn't look that different from the Statesman. But he's not a Statesman, he's Harry, and everything about the outfit is thrilling because it's so divergent from his usually impeccable city style. Eggsy takes a moment to be awed by just how incredible Harry really is. Here’s Eggsy, two years into knowing him and a month total into fucking him, and he still has half a mind to think that's not Harry sitting at the bar.

He realizes once little stars flash in his vision that he's basically stopped breathing, and yeah, ok, so maybe he gets it now, while anticipation shivers down his spine. Harry's waiting on him, it seems. Eggsy watches his Adam’s apple bob as he downs his rum, then his hands when he signals for another.

"You must've had a shit day, mate. Breakin' out the hard stuff this early," Eggsy observes.

Harry makes a good show of being surprised by his accent. Eggsy mentally kicks himself for thinking of Harry as _Harry_ and resolves to get with the program. This rugged cowboy is a stranger, and Eggsy's a London uni student trying to _find himself_.

And he's pretty sure he last saw himself on a cock.

Harry takes a more measured drink from his second glass, sizing Eggsy up before he responds. "It’s the end of my day."

 _Fuck_ , he has the twang on _lock_.

"What a coincidence. Mine too." It's not easy to drink seductively out of a rocks glass, but Eggsy makes a go of it anyway.

Harry's eyebrows raise. His glass tilts in his long fingers, swirling his rum thoughtfully while he trails a much more lingering gaze up from Eggsy's loafers to his smirk. Something flickers in his eyes, something that looks a lot like amusement. He sets the glass aside and leans closer on the bar.

"Haven't seen you around before," he says at last, once Eggsy's about to burst from his skin with waiting. Harry's gone full Eastwood, quiet and thoughtful, and it's driving Eggsy a little mad.

"Haven't been around here before. I'm from London."

"London," Harry repeats. The amusement hasn't left. "And what brings a city boy like you to the heartland?"

Eggsy gestures to his straight gin, "I heard there were some legendary martinis out here and I just had to come get a taste."

Harry laughs, a low, short chuckle. "I love this bar," he says, burr so sharp on the 'r' that Eggsy imagines he can feel it vibrating in his chest. "But even I'll say that's a lie."

Eggsy smiles. "I've got a month of freedom left before I sink five years into a residency. Figured I'd drive around and see the states." He shrugs, finishes his not-martini and lets the gin cling to his lips. Harry looks at them, appreciative, but he still hasn't shaken that odd edge of humor. "How about you? Are you a real live cowboy?"

Harry's eyes track back to his own, growing dark. He finishes his own drink. "Something like that."

Eggsy lets the words hang, leaves Harry waiting for a change of pace. Then he leans a little closer and rests a hand on Harry’s knee. "Why don't we go someplace quiet?"

Harry's gaze drops to his hand. He almost looks surprised, but that would be stupid, because this is the whole point.

"Bold, ain't you?" he drawls. Harry's eyes flicker over to Moonshine for a split second. Moonshine has taken up an avid interest in the condensation on his beer. "This ain't the safest place to pick up a man."

Eggsy smirks, pushing his hand up Harry's thigh so the touch is just shy of obscene. "I can take care of myself."

It's like before they got together. The air turns thick and heated, suspense and hope warring in Eggsy's chest even though Harry's a sure goddamn thing, damn it, he's found a new kink. Harry's gaze is a consuming blaze, searching his soul, cracking him open and turning him inside out. Eggsy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, slides his hand a millimeter higher, so his fingertips brush Harry’s length through his jeans.

"You want another?" asks the bartender.

Harry holds Eggsy's gaze while he stays the bottle. "I'll take the keys to the guest room." He says. His voice is velvet, lower and full of intent. Score one for Eggsy.

Harry catches a set of honest-to-god skeleton keys in his raised palm. "Thank you, ma’am," he says to the bartender, and then he's tugging Eggsy off the stool toward a set of stairs tucked in the wall at the end of the bar.

They make it up the stairs and into the room without incident because they're adult professionals, but Eggsy finds himself pinned to the still-closing door once they're in.

"Fuck, yes," Eggsy moans. He's been at half-mast since he heard Harry's accent and at the first brush of Harry's knee between his legs he's ready to go.

He leans up to catch Harry's lips in a kiss, but harry dodges. He whines in frustration until Harry's ravenous lips attach themselves to his neck.

Eggsy's head thunks into the door when he arches into Harry's mouth, fingers knocking Harry's hat to the floor in their quest to bury themselves in his hair. Harry smells like the sun and the earth, like he's somehow slotted himself back into the natural order humanity had fled ages ago. Eggsy's only just gotten used to the way his cologne tastes in the air when he's near, making the change intoxicating, something he needs to memorize more than he needs to breathe.

Harry's not usually one for marks, but the one he’s making on Eggsy’s neck is going to be visible from space. Not even with the nice telescopes, even the ones that take black and white pictures or whatever will pick it up.

Harry shucks his hoodie while he's preoccupied with the sun-bleached locks of Harry's hair – fuck, Harry's gone all out on this - and trying not to rut into Harry's leg like a Kingsman puppy. He's failing.

Harry releases the now-tender skin on his neck and pulls away, hooking his fingers under Eggsy's polo and all but tearing the thing off over Eggsy's head. Then he's back, pressing along Eggsy's front, slotting their hips together so the solid line of his cock is hot and hard against Eggsy's own. Eggsy's hips buck up at the contact, his cock heavy and neglected in his trousers. Harry groans in his ear, hands dropping to grab handfuls of Eggsy's arse.

Eggsy's whine climbs higher than he'd intended when Harry hitches him up, rolling his hips so Eggsy arches and can barely think to wrap his legs around Harry's waist as he's lifted off the ground.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps. His fingers catch in the tooling on Harry's shirt as he holds on, pinned between Harry and the door while Harry ruts up against him.

He's about to say ' _Harry_ ,' but Harry's not supposed to be Harry, so he flounders for a bit.

"What should I call you?" he manages to gasp.

"Henry," Harry growls.

 _Lazy_ , Eggsy wants to scold, but he can't because a second later Harry hoists him up a little more and the door disappears from his back. Eggsy attacks Harry's neck with his lips in retaliation as Harry shoves him up onto the dresser, rocking it into the wall as he does.

The button and zip on his trousers come undone seconds later and Eggsy moans in relief, flexing up at the brush of Harry's fingertips over his straining cock.

His phone chooses that moment to go off, a long buzz in his pocket against the backs of Harry's fingers.

"Ignore it," Eggsy says.

But Harry's fishing the phone out of his pocket, a smirk that spells trouble playing on his lips. Eggsy’s phone is the sort that buzzes for a solid second before letting up to do it again, insistent, and it keeps on while Harry gets it into his palm and gives Eggsy a mischievous look.

"What are you-" Eggsy starts, but then he's arching on a sharp cry as Harry sets the phone against his covered length so the last long buzz vibrates right against his cock.

When he comes around he realizes he's begging, a litany of "please, please, please," while Harry hides his smirk against Eggsy’s chin. His phone is away down the dresser, innocuous though the sight of it is permanently going to give him shivers now, he's sure of it.

Harry palms between Eggsy's legs and it's not nearly enough. He squirms into the touch, another pleading keen turning into the word " _more_."

Rather than listen, Harry stops. Eggsy pulls himself together enough to glare.

Harry chuckles at him. "Darlin', you deserve to be savored."

The phone goes off again, loud as a freight train on the oak dresser. Harry's eyes gleam.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Eggsy grabs his head and drags him into a kiss as a distraction.

Harry goes a little still under the press of Eggsy's lips, which, uncalled for. Just because he's acting the part of a Cambridge slut doesn't mean he's Julia fucking Roberts. Then he relents, melting into Eggsy's insistent lips, leaning so Eggsy’s pressed against the wall while he licks into Eggsy's mouth. He tastes like spiced rum, strong and heady, so Eggsy's convinced he can get drunk off the lingering tang. Harry grinds his hips into Eggsy's and Eggsy moans, turns the kiss sloppy and needy, tries to pour out everything they aren't saying through it.

When Harry draws back his eyes are darker still, his smolder sending shivers along Eggsy's nerves.

"That how you kiss a stranger?"

Eggsy shrugs. "'S how I kiss you."

Harry's character finally cracks. His gaze softens a bit, lips quirking on a fond smile.

The moment is ruined by the deafening buzz of Eggsy's phone, again.

"You need to take that?" Harry asks.

"Fuck," Eggsy mutters. There aren't a lot of people left who would call him, but there's a chance it's an emergency. "One second," he fumbles with the phone, not even looking at the name on the screen when he answers. "Real bad timin'-"

"Eggsy? Where are you?"

Eggsy looks at the man he has his legs wrapped around. "...Harry?"

"I ran a little late," says Harry, worried, tinny, and most definitely not from in front of him. "Are you alright?"

And that's when not-Harry's wandering fingers bump into his gun.

Eggsy's almost dizzy with how quickly the mood changes. One second he's a few strokes from coming his brains out, the next he's pinned to the wall by some kind of clone who seems to be having a revelation of equal magnitude, though Eggsy sure as shit hopes there isn't a clone of him to match.

He doesn't get to respond to Harry. He doesn't get to respond because he's too busy dodging the _taser knife_ not-Harry has shoved into the wall where his head was, Jesus Christ. He swings his leg up and kicks not-Harry in the head - it's not exactly effective, since he's wearing civilian shoes and has to bend in half to do it, but the blow knocks them apart enough for Eggsy to dart away and spin to land a more solid kick on the small of his back.

Not-Harry slams into the dresser, one knee smashing through a drawer to rain splinters of wood on the floor. Then he's up again like a machine, whirling so fast Eggsy barely has time to react before his head bangs into the wall, straight through the sheetrock and into the thin old wood siding.

He needs to stay the fuck out of range, Eggsy reflects as his eyes water from the gritty sheetrock dust and both his ears throb, one from being pinned to fraying wood and the other from a brutal ear-clap.

Not-Harry's hand is gone for another blow, and Eggsy seizes the chance to drop to the ground.

Eggsy's fought Harry, he knows Harry's reach almost as well as his own. And it's a damn good thing - they've never gone all out on each other because they're allies, and also they like each other, and while no one's sure who would win they've surmised the survivor would be too fucked up to live a full life.

This is that, but worse.

Not-Harry goes to kick him but Eggsy shoves off the wall and out of the way, so he puts another hole in the sheetrock with his boot. Eggsy darts up into not-Harry's space and drives a fist into his gut.

Not-Harry doubles over, but not for long - he comes back swinging with the crackling taser knife again. Eggsy manages to bend out of the path of the blade, but electricity leaps off it anyway, scoring his chest with tight, burning pain and leaving a red line in its wake. Not-Harry swings again and Eggsy topples onto the bed.

Eggsy reaches for his gun, but he hears a click and throws himself to the floor before he gets a grip on it. A blast cracks through the air and pelts the bed with scatter shot, casting feathers and fluff up in a cloud of fuzzy white.

Eggsy takes one look at the hidden shotgun up not-Harry's sleeve and nopes the fuck out. He's in friendly territory and out of his bulletproof suit, and under those circumstances he's not too proud to run.

He launches himself at the door, hearing the faint sound of footsteps on the stairs as he does. But then the doppelganger fucking catches his leg _out of the air_ and uses it to slam him down into hardwood. Not-Harry isn’t fucking around - Eggsy coughs the breath from his lungs on impact and gasps for a few precious seconds after, willing his ribs to realize they're still mostly in the right places and fumbling with his holster.

The doppelganger lands on his hips, pinning him with two pistols aimed at his head, but staring down the barrel of Eggsy's gun between them. The door slams open and _there_ 's Harry, the real one, but his fake is quick as a whip and has one gun on Harry at the same time Harry has his own out and aimed.

From there it's a lot of very loud, almost unintelligible yelling and demand-making in the vein of 'who the fuck are you,' but the only thing that really gets conveyed is a verbal representation of an exclamation point and a question mark.

No one else in the bar seems all that interested in investigating, the last in a string of signs Eggsy figures he should have picked up on.

Eventually they fall silent to stare at each other. The Mexican stand-off is more authentic than Eggsy figured roleplaying warranted.

Harry, what Eggsy can see of him, is also in jeans, and stiff black boots, and a light duster coat, but now that Harry's right next to not-Harry Eggsy's kicking himself for not seeing the differences. Or rather, not figuring out that they meant it was actually another person. Somehow.

Not-Harry's tan is struggling to hold, but it's there, too genuine to be explained away as anything but sun exposure. His hair really _is_ lighter, and he's a little thicker in the shoulders. He still gives off the air of royalty, but it's a distinctly rougher air. The eyepatch is just unfair. Eggsy would have caught it, if not for that.

A second set of booted feet begin to ascend the stairs. Their steps are slow and measured, unhurried. Eventually they pause at the door.

Someone whistles.

"Hooo, y'all sure tore slap up the guestroom," Tequila drawls. He wanders around into Eggsy's peripheral vision, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and eyes dancing. "Harry, you're all gussied up ain't'cha?"

Eggsy looks at Harry for a translation. Harry shrugs helplessly.

"Look at you, lost as last year's Easter eggs. Don't that just dill my pickle."

"The hell're you talkin' about, Tequila?" Not-Harry asks.

"Aw, come on, Rum, it's funny! Take your peepers off the promised land and look 'em over. Them there highfalutin' boys're about to pitch a fit."

"Harry, I changed my mind. I don't ever want to be near anything American ever again," Eggsy says.

"How wonderful, I was going to say the same thing."

Not-Harry ignores them, though his tone implies he's just as annoyed. "Mind explainin' the joke to the rest of us?"

"Yeah, alright." If anything, Tequila looks even more thrilled at the prospect. "Boys, meet agent Rum," he nods to not-Harry. "Seems spyin' runs in the family."

There's a long, terrible moment of incomprehension, followed by a longer, more terrible moment of comprehension. Eggsy drops his gun.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he says, but it's rhetorical.

He's out of the standoff, hell, he's out for the count, but Harry's trigger finger is actually sitting a little heavier, if anything. He sinks to kneel behind Eggsy, and Eggsy drops his head on Harry's shoulder. Not-Harry has yet to move off his hips. As panic recedes, guilt rises to take its place in Eggsy's chest.

"Harry I'm so, so sorry, Jesus, I should have caught it but I swear I didn't."

Harry doesn't respond, but he does press a gentle kiss to Eggsy's temple without taking his eyes off -- his _identical twin_ , fuck, only Harry.

"What happened to your eye?" Harry asks, calm as you please to cover the deadly edge to his tone.

Not-Harry - or maybe his name really is Henry - stares Harry down over Eggsy. He feels a little bit like a slab of meat between two hungry dogs and _this is not the sort of situation he should be turned on by_.

"Farming accident when I was a kid," Henry says eventually "You?"

"I was shot on a mission."

"Sounds like you copied me, then."

Harry frowns, but slowly lowers his gun.

"Come on then, let’s skedaddle before Tonic comes up here and tans your hides."

Eggsy senses real danger in the air, and when he looks between Harry and Henry, he knows why. They're both considering taking out their frustration on Tequila. Except if they ever team up, Eggsy can already tell, they'll level everything for at least a mile.

Resignation blooms in Eggsy's chest.

 

Harry's changed into his suit, probably an attempt to set himself apart from his twin. He looks damningly good, as always, familiarity and what possessiveness he's trying to hide altering his posture so he's closer, more open towards Eggsy and more stand-offish towards Henry.

Henry looks the same as he had when he was dry humping Eggsy against the wall. No big deal. They're staring at each other over Eggsy's head while Whisky talks to the three of them, and Eggsy imagines it's like the cartoons where lightning crackles in the air between their gazes.

Eggsy opts for the all the safety that talking to his drink allows. It isn't all that much.

"Henry has just finished a deep cover mission. We initially thought Harry was him, until Harry woke up and started talking," Whisky explains. "If he hadn’t gone straight to the bar when he got back, we would have introduced you."

"I suppose there wasn't time to inform us of the situation," Harry allows.

"You cut Whisky a break, she's been running all over hell's half acre fixin' to open y'all's new shop and trainin’ our new Ginger." Tequila scolds, and Harry winces at the delivery but murmurs an apology anyway.

She's a real saint, coming to sort the mess out for them even though it should be the new Ginger's job. He figures it’s probably for Henry's benefit. The only time Henry and Harry had paused their silent feud had been when Whisky arrived and Henry had greeted her like a dear old friend.

"Harry's right, there wasn't time." Whisky agrees, then turns her tablet towards them, showing a picture of a smiling young couple. "Olivia Hart and Levi Lovely split up in nineteen sixty after a short marriage." She flicks through photocopied old documents on her tablet for proof. "Levi returned home to take over his family's ranch here in Kentucky, while Olivia remained in England. Both came away from the divorce with a son."

Eggsy watches the stained paper scroll by until Whisky folds the tablet into her side.

"Harry, this is somehow your fault," Eggsy informs him. "No one's life is really the parent trap."

"Our parents are dead," Harry counters. "Consider that I may be dramatic as a result of my environment and not the reverse."

"So you were thinkin' I was him," Henry drawls in Harry's voice and a perfect southern accent.

"Fuck," Eggsy says, "it was a sex thing."

"Figured."

"Look, this should be like, not a massively awkward situation, yeah? Harry, you've got a brother. I'm gonna leave and let you two get to know each other better, alright?" Eggsy's half out of his chair before he's even finished talking, but Henry grabs his arm before he manages to escape and hide in shame.

"Stay, boy. I can think of lots of ways we can get to know each other better."

Harry's eyes flash at the implication, but he doesn't argue.

"You're both freaks," Eggsy mumbles, but he stays and what does that say about him?

 

Whisky and Tequila sneak out unnoticed and shut the door behind them.

"I think they'll be fine." Whisky nods to herself, but really she's incredibly glad she's not Ginger anymore and it's Not Her Problem.

Tequila, for his part, is showing almost every one of his teeth in his shit-eating grin. Whisky fixes him with a stern look. "Why have you been using your rodeo accent?"

Tequila cackles as quietly as a person can cackle, which amounts to a giggle with a dash of mischief. "You should see the looks on their faces! It's like they've seen hell every time I say y'all."


End file.
